


The Hogwarts Rumor Mill Industrial Complex

by SaffronSnitch



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Merlin and Arthur and Morgana are Hogwarts Professors, Sorry Not Sorry, as I wrote this I got overly attached to Pinkie, but this is not a crossover, enemies to COWORKERS to lovers, which meant I had to make up a ton of fake Hogwarts students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28125780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaffronSnitch/pseuds/SaffronSnitch
Summary: Well-kept Hogwarts secrets: the content of Morgana's visions, Professor Emrys's shampoo, why Professor Emrys and Professor Pendragon hate each otherPoorly-kept Hogwarts secrets: that Professor Emrys and Professor Pendragon hate each otherThe Hogwarts student population decides to take investigative matters into their own hands the only way they know how — the ever-present rumor mill.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 162





	The Hogwarts Rumor Mill Industrial Complex

It was a poorly-kept secret and well-known fact amongst the Hogwarts student population that Professor Emrys and Professor Pendragon did  _ not _ get along. It wasn’t subtle at all, really. Voices carried in the Great Hall, and on weekends the two would get into some nasty arguments at breakfast. Doris Mumples once claimed she heard Emrys call Pendragon a  _ clotpole _ , whatever that means, but then again Doris Mumples went around telling everyone that she was the Heir of Hufflepuff for a full two weeks in March, so she wasn’t the most trustworthy source.

The Hogwarts students were fairly split down the middle with their faculty allegiances, with some loyal to Emrys’s mischievous grin and sweltering cheekbones, while certain others — the swotty boys, and a swoony gaggle of girls — would likely run themselves through with a blade for a Pendragon smile turned in their direction.

Most of the male students — at least the ones with any attraction towards women whatsoever — were head over heels for the  _ other _ Professor Pendragon, who insisted everyone call her Morgana and was prone to turn upper level Divination classes into gossip sessions. Tallulah Hubbard swore up and down that Morgana once let slip a story of a physical brawl between her brother and Merlin when they were at Hogwarts together, but there were several holes in Tallulah’s story. First of all, Professor Emrys had been in  _ Slytherin,  _ not Gryffindor, so there was no way they could’ve been fighting in their supposedly-shared dormitory. Secondly, Professor Pendragon had been Prefect and Head Boy, as evidenced by the plaque in the awards room, so getting a six-month-long detention was highly improbable.

Despite the fallible rumor mill, there were some truths too public to overlook. Roderick Limbaire was taking sixth year DADA with Professor Emrys, and recounted with visible distaste an anecdote Emrys had shared about Pendragon, a display of cowardice, and three runespoors. Similarly, Jenna Bartake had dropped by Professor Pendragon’s office hours to ask a question about her OWL level History of Magic essay on the magical politics of medieval England — which she ended up managing an E on, thank you very much — and Professor Pendragon had used Emrys as a hypothetical example of how powerful wizards could still be thick and stupid about history. He used those words exactly, Jenna had said, although she admitted that Pendragon said them with a certain fondness that she interpreted to mean that Pendragon was comforted by his intellectual superiority over Emrys. 

Luis Redding, a small, mousy boy, cried  _ bullshit! _ at Jenna’s story. Pendragon was not intellectually superior to Emrys, he yelled, look at their positions! Defense required so much more technical skill and magical ability than History of Magic, which was tedious and boring otherwise. 

Not as boring as when Binns taught it, Mary-Alice Clearwater reminded everyone from her perch on Jenna’s armchair, and the room fell silent as the older students recalled the ghost’s droning tangents. Pendragon had certainly made goblin revolts and international magical law more tangible, at least.

The following Monday, during one of Professor Pendragon’s more animated lectures (this one about the Salem Witch Trials), the class of Ravenclaw third years were jolted to attention as the door banged open. Professor Emrys came barging in and had already started a tirade directed at Pendragon before the latter held his hands up in an affrontive offense. 

“Can’t you see I’m teaching?” 

“Nothing important,” Professor Emrys said with a grin and a wink towards the class. In the front row, Perry Goldstein nearly fell out of his chair. “Here’s a hint, kids: the purebloods try to kill the muggles for about a thousand years. Hey, Arthur, your job is a lot easier than mine!”

Professor Pendragon — Arthur — looked like he was steaming out of his ears. In the back corner, Gretchen Snillsborgen whispered something about unrequited love to her neighbor, who snorted so hard she induced a nosebleed.

“Says the man who bounces off walls for a living,” Professor Pendragon finally sputtered. “Not all of us can get away with accidentally releasing a boggart in the Great Hall and calling it a ‘pop quiz.’”

“That was an accident?” Niles Wetherby asked from a desk near the door. Both professors’ heads swiveled to look at him curiously. Niles winced. “I nearly peed myself when that happened.”

“Right,” said Professor Pendragon, shaking his head at Niles's nonsense. “Merlin, get out of my classroom.”

“Gladly,” said Professor Emrys, sticking his tongue out like a child and slamming the door on his way out.

They never did get to learn about witch-burnings, because Professor Pendragon had turned pink all over, assigned them 50 pages of reading, and sat at his desk and stared out the window for the rest of the hour.

One Saturday evening in early December, Pinkie Clemont came streaking down the Great Hall, skidding nearly the full length of the table before clambering onto the Slytherin bench between two burly fifth years. 

“Bugger off, Pinkie,” said Jude, who was presiding over the entire fifth year class and regaling them with a play-by-play recap of the Slytherin victory in the morning’s Quidditch match.

“You bugger off,” Pinkie said, small but mighty and a bit of a twink. “No one cares about Quidditch. I just saw Professor Emrys on a date.”

Jude’s magnificently-executed Starfish-and-Stick ignored, Pinkie began his tale. He had spent the day in Hogsmeade after the Quidditch match, and had gotten special permission to stay late so he could have dinner with his grandfather. Pinkie had chosen a table near the back of the Three Broomsticks, and right there nestled in the corner booth was Professor Emrys and a man.

“A man!” asked Maude West excitedly, and Pinkie rolled his eyes.

“If you thought Merlin Emrys was straight, then you’re as dumb as rocks,” Pinkie said, with a smattering of pretension. Maude crossed her arms and went silent as Pinkie continued. 

Apparently, Professor Emrys and his date, a bearded rugged sort of man, had been very friendly, laughing and talking and smiling. They had still been there when Pinkie left to walk back to the castle, and on his way out he had even caught them snogging out of the corner of his eye.

Here, the crowd groaned — it was always rough to hear about a professor kissing someone, even if half the group wanted to kiss Professor Emrys themselves. Pinkie leaned forward, plucked a chicken drumstick out of Jude’s hand, and took a triumphant bite.

“Beat that,” he said, grinning, and Jude smirked in challenge.

“Looks like Pendragon’s gone and gotten himself hammered,” he said, with a tilt of his head, and sure enough, when the gaggle of Slytherins turned around, they could see their History of Magic professor at the faculty table looking sloshed. Professor Pendragon’s cheeks were ruddier than normal, his eyes glazed over, and he was gesturing all over the place as Morgana listened, a sort of bemused-slash-concerned look on her face. 

“Oof,” said Pinkie. “Wonder what’s got his balls in a twist.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mary-Alice piped up, her Ravenclaw tie sticking out like a sore thumb from where she sat, nearly on Roderick Limbaire’s eager lap. “He must be jealous.”

“Jealous?” Jude asked.

“Of the date,” Mary-Alice continued. She wiggled her eyebrows. “With Professor Emrys.”

“You don’t think  _ he’s _ gay too—” started some dumb Beater before Pinkie hit him in the shoulder with a resounding  _ thwack.  _

“Arsehole,” Pinkie said before turning back to Mary-Alice. “I’m intrigued. Say more.”

“I mean, they went to school together, they fight all the time, they interrupt each other's classes with a bone to pick, they complain about each other behind their backs…” Mary-Alice ticked each point off with one of her fingers. “That’s a whole lot of tension building up for years and years. I think Prof. P. has got a crush.”

“That’s bollocks,” argued Jude. “I thought Pendragon had that girlfriend.”

“They broke up ages ago,” someone said, and the topic quickly consumed the entire student population. Meanwhile, Professor Pendragon continued to get drunk up at the teacher’s table until he tipped over right into Morgana’s soup, after which he was shepherded haphazardly to his room.

Everyone, especially the Slytherins, were on high alert for the next couple weeks, but after that night Professor Pendragon was back to his normal posturing taciturn self, albeit a little harsher with his essay grades. Professor Emrys, on the other hand, was rarely to be seen. A set of Gryffindors snuck out midweek and claimed to see him with a man in Hogsmeade, but it was impossible to corroborate. 

The professors were back to their normal bickering ways when seen together in public, but with a certain stilted nature. Mary-Alice had taken to entertaining younger students with her theories, but after a healthy debate turned into a bonafide wizarding duel in the courtyard, she halted. 

And then: Easter.

Most students went home — there had been a brief scare at Hogwarts with a manticore earlier that term, and most families wanted their kids home. With only a few students still on campus, Easter dinner was held at one circular table, which made for an awkward but illuminating time.

As Nicolas Bones recounted later, Professor Pendragon and Professor Emrys barely spoke to anyone but each other the whole night. He wasn’t close enough to hear their conversation — instead, he was nudged up against Morgana’s side, which made him so jittery he nearly fainted — but he could see that the two of them were discussing something intently, with Professor Emrys rolling his eyes a lot as Professor Pendragon stabbed his roast pork with an angry fork. 

But they did get drunk, according to other reports, although it didn’t happen until later that evening. Most of the other faculty retired early, leaving just Pendragon, Emrys, Morgana, and the terrifying Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Professor Kilgarrah. Kilgarrah was waxing poetic about old traditions, but Morgana had challenged her brother to a drinking contest, and Professor Emrys was keeping up with them both.

Thirty minutes later, when Nicolas Bones and Shuri Keen were snogging behind the suit of armor outside the Great Hall, they heard a door slam, and then the raised voices of the two professors. 

“You’re insufferable!” yelled the voice of Professor Pendragon, who was slurring his words a bit. Nicolas and Shuri leaned even further back behind the armor. They couldn’t see the conversation, but they could hear it.

“Takes one to know one,” said Professor Emrys, bite in his voice, although he too sounded muffled from drunkenness.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You don’t make any sense.”

“Fuck you!” 

And then there was a pregnant pause, where Nicolas and Shuri didn’t hear or see anything, but then afterwards they heard the pattering footsteps of their professors clomping in the same direction, and they made their escape.

Nobody knew what happened in the meantime — where they went, what was said — but it was known that Professor Pendragon and Professor Emrys were located in the hospital wing the next morning at nine o’clock.

Suza Combtree had stayed there overnight (a mild case of dragonpox), and was lazily waking up when she saw them enter. They were worse for wear, she said, and looked absolutely exhausted. When they spoke, they used low tones. Professor Emrys went to fetch Gaius, who turned his terrible eyebrow on them both.

They had come for hangover cures. Gaius obliged them and had them wait for a moment as he went to his stores.

Suza, still pretending to be asleep, saw through her nearly-closed eyelashes that Professor Pendragon looked to be telling a story, half-smiling, and Professor Emrys had tilted his ear closer to hear, and gave a soft chuckle. Then, as Suza watched in astonishment, Professor Emrys turned his head and kissed Professor Pendragon lightly on the shoulder.

When Gaius returned a moment later, it was like it never happened

When Suza told this story, she was met with gasps of excitement and a few huffs of the disbelieving sort. But it was true, she insisted. She knew what she saw. She wasn’t so sick that she was hallucinating, and truly didn’t care one way or the other about how it played out. But it was the truth.

For the rest of term, everyone was on high alert once more, but nothing came to pass. Sure, there was less arguing where everyone could see it, but eagle-eyed students could still detect where Professor Pendragon’s hands clenched around his eating utensils, or when Professor Emrys tightened his jaw after a conversation with him. 

The night before the end-of-term feast, a brave seventh year named Pippa Wallis (a real whiz at DADA) stopped by Professor Emrys’s office and asked him, straight up, what the deal was between him and Professor Pendragon. According to Pippa, he spoke only two cryptic sentences — “He’s an old friend who’s become an awful bastard lately. Funny how he can get away with being a prat just because he’s good” — and then sent her on her way. 

In the end, it was Pinkie who got the last word. Face pressed to the window of his compartment on the Hogwarts Express — he hated leaving Hogwarts, and got overly sentimental about it — he could just make out two figures on the edge of the grounds. Fumbling a moment with his wand, he cast a quick magnifying spell on his glasses to zoom in, and it was Professor Pendragon and Professor Emrys, taking the long trail around the castle. Not only that, but they were holding hands. 

Pinkie, ever the gossip, didn’t tell anyone about what he saw. Some things, he reckoned, were better kept secret. 

**Author's Note:**

> It's December, and you know what that means — Saf's yearly rewatch of BBC Merlin. I wrote this in one rabid sitting, no clue where the idea came from. But I thought it was fun to write. let me know what you think! <3 <3 
> 
> also, I'm now on tumblr! @saf-is-bored


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